


insidious is blind inception

by mania_sama



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No Romance, Not Beta Read, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, POV TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), POV Wilbur Soot, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Platonic Relationships, Protective Wilbur Soot, Raccoon TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc Fluff, Sleepy Bois Inc-centric, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), no beta we die like dsmp!tommy, poggers, this is actually my first multi-chapter fic on this site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mania_sama/pseuds/mania_sama
Summary: Wilbur was getting really tired of the raccoon destroying his trash everyday, so he sets out to get rid of it once and for all.—•—•—-LOWERCASE INTENDED FOR TITLE-—•—•—Posted to Wattpad as well.—•—•—If any of the content creators featured in this fanfiction are uncomfortable with being in it, I will take it down.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 129





	insidious is blind inception

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Raccoon Problem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464737) by [Phantom_Coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantom_Coffee/pseuds/Phantom_Coffee). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title of this work is a lyric from NF’s song, “Mansion.” each chapter title is a song title by NF (i like his music- can you tell?). this fanfiction’s concept and main plot actually belongs to @Phantom_Coffee, and the work is linked just above this note. please read it, and they are also amazing for letting me write this!! this fanfiction basically follows their first chapter and then deviates into its own story from there on.

His fingers slowly drifted down his face in an exaggerated manner, as if to show off his true contempt without anyone around to actually see him. He supposed it would make his voice more pronounced, with the muffled noise behind his hands, and the faint sound of skin rubbing skin, or his clothes ruffling with the movement. “If I go out there tomorrow, and my garbage is ruined, I will completely lose my mind.”

His friend did not miss a beat in his reply, as if he’d been saving it up in the back of his mind for a while, ready to use it at the most opportune moment. “You already have, mate.” At the end of his sentence, his voice trailed into a higher pitch, which led into a giggle of sorts. Wilbur groaned, finally settling his hands back down onto his lap.

He was, in every sense of the word, tired. Having to clean up his trash everyday when he woke up was utterly tiring. Every time he saw his garbage bin tipped over, a part of his soul drifted off into the sky, just where he couldn’t get it back. Then, he would have to waste an hour cleaning the mess back up, with an entirely new trash bag and all. The horrid cycle had repeated itself for far too long, and he was ready for it to end.

“It’s time I drag myself out of my chair and go get a lock.” He stretched out his arms, mentally preparing himself to go out into the living world for a bit. As a gaming streamer, coupled in with anxiety, he doesn’t really get out of his house all that much. “You don’t think raccoons can open locks?” He asked his friend.

He could almost see the shrug and lean back into the man’s chair, despite neither of them having their camera on. “Probably not. It’s just gonna be annoying as hell to have to unlock it to dump out your trash everyday.” Phil answered, making Wilbur roll his eyes in response. Of course he knew it would be inconvenient and irritating, but it was better than letting that damn raccoon tear through his garbage.

At least, he  _ thought  _ it was a raccoon. He’d never actually seen it, and only heard it once, but common sense told him it was the black-and-white creature. The area around him wasn’t unknown to raccoons, and the mess it always made when finding things to eat in his trash was horrid. “Well, the rock did absolutely nothing to stop it, so I’m just going to have to deal with it until it goes away.” He and Phil exchanged their farewells, and the call disconnected shortly after.

He tucked on his jacket and pocketed his phone inside. The air crystalized his hot breath when he sighed. As he left his house, he thought back to his failed attempts to stop his pesky neighbor. Wilbur had, at first, coated his bin in pepper spray, since had read somewhere that the smell would drive away the raccoons because of their sensitive noses. After a week of no noticeable change in the destruction, he moved onto a different tactic; putting a rock on top of the bin. He thought that the animal wouldn’t be able to move it off the lid, but soon enough, he found his trash scattered across his grass, with a rock pressed to the ground on the other side.

He tried a heavier rock after that. It was then that he heard the rascal for the first and last time. While he was in his kitchen enjoying a self-indulgent midnight snack, he had heard a sharp scrape coming from outside, and he immediately knew what was up. However, when he made it to his bin, there was nothing there except for a large rock laying on the ground of a closed garbage bin. Thereafter, Wilbur did not hear when the rock was moved, and the trash was still dug through.

—•—•—

An Asda bag swung back and forth as he walked, the plastic rubbing against his inner fingers. He ignored it, as it wasn’t a big deal anyway. The only thing in it was a cheap lock that would be used to seal up his metal garbage bin. It wasn’t anything too fancy, but he figured it would get the job done. He hardly thought a raccoon would be able to break it, nevertheless have enough smarts to figure out how without making a lot of noise.

Doubt twinged at the back of his mind as he remembered all the times he found rocks on the ground, just outside of the area that would be littered with trash. For whatever it was worth, the animal did have a pretty good brain, and it made him backtrack in his faithfulness of the lock. He didn’t have too much time to dwell on it though, for a paper stapled to a post caught his attention.

It was torn and weathered down, and the print was hard to read in its light gray color. What took up most of the page, however, was a black-and-white photo of what he assumed was a child. There was a small smile on his face, and under the picture was the faded word,  _ Tommy.  _ He couldn’t make out the number at the bottom of the page, and in all honesty, it seemed like there wasn’t much effort put into the missing person poster, like the person who made it didn’t care. To say it unsettled Wilbur was an understatement. For one, it was scary to envision a child lost out in the streets of Brighton, or anywhere in England for that matter. To make matters worse, whoever Tommy’s guardian was clearly didn’t care if they got their kid back.

His hand tightened around his plastic bag, fingernails digging into his palms as he forced himself to continue walking back to his house. He willed his heart to slow down, knowing he had gotten himself riled up again over nothing. What he needed to focus on something that was within his control, not something out of it. The words of a past therapist echoed in his mind, and he pushed forward, stepping hard against the pavement.

He eventually reached his house, successfully distracting himself from the abandoned paper on the pole. Wilbur rounded the residence and made his way to his garbage bin, not tipped over and not with trash scattered about. He took out the lock and quickly twisted the metal part inside the holes connecting the lid and the bin. It clicked into place audibly, and he twisted the key in his back pocket. He exhaled heavily through his nose, the cold air making his nose hurt and numb at the same time.

He entered his house and shed off his thick coat, sniffing. Much longer outside and he thought he’d freeze to death. He looked out his window to where the garbage bin sat, and resolved to stay up late to catch this raccoon once and for all. Besides, if he did that, he’d have more time to play Minecraft with his friends. It was a win-win, really. He dared to let himself smile at the thought.

—•—•—

Swinging harshly with a bare fist, he hit Phil’s avatar on the back, swiftly sending him off into the ravine below him. The resounding yelp that hit his ears made him grin as the man respawned elsewhere, far enough away that it would be a rather large inconvenience to try and run all the way back to collect his stuff. Phil continued to grumble out his discontent as Wilbur tapped on his keyboard to make his character start flying.

His other friend made a few monotone comments in response to the entire sabotage that happened. “Techno, I will find you and murder you next.” He momentarily stopped to rub at his eyes, which were becoming more and more dry as the clock ticked on. It didn’t help that he was having to do this in the dark, seeing as the raccoon never seemed to come around when his lights were on.

“Hey, no direct killing. You agreed to this.” That was right- he couldn’t beat anyone to death, or place lava under them, but he could  _ push  _ them into things, like a very steep ravine, or a very convenient skeleton spawner. That was the whole point of the game, after all. Technoblade and Philza needed to complete the game while Wilbur tormented them and made it extremely difficult to do. It was pretty fun on his end.

Wilbur shrugged like they could see him. “Murdering can be done in many ways, Mr. Pig.” He tilted his head from side to side, trying to see more in his game despite it not being in VR. Somehow, he thought it helped a little bit, climbing down into a cave he presumed his friend to be. He brought silverfish spawner eggs into his hotbar while a devious smile stretched across his face. The creatures were going to be an absolute Hell for Technoblade to deal with.

As he spotted the man’s gamertag and called out his name in a mocking tone, he faintly heard the scratch of metal scraping metal. He froze for a solid point-two seconds before taking off the earbud that was tucked in his ear. He muttered one word to his friends before jolting off to the outside world without a jacket or shoes to keep him warm. “Raccoon.” He didn’t hear their response.

The dead grass tickled his feet, causing an uncomfortable feeling to run up and down his spine accompanying the enhanced chill of the night. He did his best to ignore the anxiety bubbling up in his chest. In reality, he didn’t actually have a plan for what he would do once he saw the raccoon. So, in the adrenaline of the moment, he resorted to simply scaring it away. Yelling at it, stomping his feet, or if he got close enough, capturing it. He just hoped it wouldn’t come back again after this instance.

As he got closer, he could vaguely make out a hunched over figure with a garbage bin collapsed to the ground beside it. He didn’t think too much about it, and besides, his eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark yet. “Bastard! Get the fuck out-” His words died in his throat as the clouds moved to give way to moonlight. It streamed down almost elegantly onto what he  _ thought _ was supposed to be a black-and-white creature. Instead, he laid his eyes upon a boy whose shaking hands were hovering over where the bin once was.

Wilbur thought he was seeing things. But after a moment of silence, he realized that what was in front of him was indeed real, and his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. He slowly lifted his hands in a placating motion, intending to make it so that the boy could see he wasn’t carrying any sort of weapon or that he wasn’t going to harm him. The man didn’t miss the way his shoulders tensed at the movement. “Hey…” He whispered, just loud enough for the person to hear him. He softened his voice, much different from the brash tone he exuded just a moment ago. “Hey. Are you okay?”

The boy was obviously  _ not  _ okay. His face was covered in scratches, both old and new, and his short-sleeved t-shirt was torn in various places, and there were only a pair of shorts to cover part of legs. Not to mention that he didn’t even have shoes on, just a sock on one foot and the other covered with what appeared to be band-aids. His hair was a mess, ruffled and tangled to an uncomfortable degree. Overall, he was coated in dirt and insanely thin, looking like he had been camping out in the wilderness for days on end.

The woods behind his house whispered its content as a gust of wind took away the last of the leaves hanging on the trees. The boy didn’t reply. Wilbur took a hesitant step forward, only succeeding in scaring the child and causing him to stumble backwards. The streamer stopped moving. “How about we go inside? You look like you can use some warmth.” In truth, Wilbur himself needed to get out of the cold. His feet were tingling in the way limbs do before they go numb.

Wilbur made sure not to keep his eyes off of the boy as he glanced back and forth from the house and the man. He was obviously still frightened, maybe even more so at the proposal of going into a house with a stranger. In the back of his, the musician put two and two together: this was the creature who’d been tearing through his trash everyday. To get  _ food _ . And from the looks of the boy, it was barely enough to keep him alive. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” He honestly thought he had said something right, but the boy simply tensed impossibly more.

The child’s arms dropped down by his sides, and before the man could register what was going on, he started falling forward in complete deadweight. Wilbur quickly leaned in to catch the boy, only to find out that he was much lighter than he originally thought he was going to be. He chewed at his lip nervously as he repositioned himself, trying to make it easier to carry the stranger. Getting him into a bridal carry, he trudged his way back to the house, anxiety eating away at his mind. If a neighbor saw him carrying a boy into his house in the middle of the night while he was unconscious when they  _ knew  _ Wilbur didn’t have any children or younger siblings to speak of, well, he was sure that there would be police at his house in no time.

He opened the door rather awkwardly, the sharp coolness of the handle burning his hand. He briefly considered putting the boy on the coach before deciding that that wouldn’t be a smart idea- taking him to the man’s room would be better. His phone was in there, as well as his computer, warm bed sheets, and a bathroom. He could also keep a better eye on him that way. Wilbur plopped him down on the bed gently after turning on the lights, not exactly sure what to do from there on out.

There was a beat-up child passed out on his bed, and he had no idea what to do. The reality of the situation settled in his stomach, and anxiety creeped up his lungs and down through his bloodstream. His head turned from side to side in a state of panic, before seeing the abandoned computer, his earbud dangling from the side. He reached for it, staring at the blocky game in front of him.

He took in a shaky breath. “Not a raccoon.” His voice was strained, evident in showing his perturbation. There was silence from the other end of the call, and he wondered if they had ended it without him. Looking at the time, it had only been around five minutes since they left, so they couldn’t have lost their patience  _ that  _ quickly. Besides, when he checked the player tab, they were still in the world.

“I mean… Was it a bear?” Technoblade drawled, his voice somehow deeper than it was before. Wilbur shakily exited the game, the bright colors of it making his head hurt. He sat down in his chair carefully, glancing back to check up on the boy. He was definitely not a bear- the furthest from that, really.

Phil’s laughter portrayed his worry quite well. “Did you just get mauled by a bear?” Wilbur was not in the joking mood, so he simply frowned at the joke and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. He didn’t know how to respond. He shook his head, then denied that there was a bear. It didn’t even make sense that they were asking that, because bears barely even exist in England.

He sighed, rubbing at his chin and mouth. “It- I-” God, he didn’t know what to say. How was he supposed to say this when he himself didn’t comprehend what was going on? “Boy. The raccoon is actually a boy and he passed out and I brought him inside and now I don’t know what to do.”

Yet again, he was met with silence. “What does the raccoon’s gender have anything to do with this?”

“The raccoon isn’t a raccoon, Technoblade.” Oh, how he wished he could punch that man in the face right then and there. And it was said with genuine confusion, too! The audacity of some people. “He’s a child that’s been digging through my trash for two weeks in the cold with nothing but a t-shirt and shorts to protect him.” It was then that he remembered the band-aids that covered the kid’s foot.

Just as he was about to speak, Phil’s voice sounded in his ear. “Where are his parents?” Wilbur unplugged the earbuds from the computer so he could hear what his friends were saying as he examined the boy’s foot. The only thing he could smell was the horrid orid radiating from all over the kid’s body. He hesitantly touched the bandages, disliking the way that they were stained with blood.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say anything when we met. He was really scared, though.” He didn’t want to think about the implications behind that. He peeled back a band-aid, grimacing at the pain that the child would’ve been feeling had he been conscious. He narrowed his eyes, looking back up at the boy, familiarity seeping through into his mind.

He cut off the person who was speaking. The realization he just made was rather important and needed to be said immediately, he decided. “I saw him on a missing poster yesterday.” He whispered, faintly wondering if they heard what he said. It was possible Discord didn’t pick up his voice and counted it as background noise. However, his worries on that particular subject were silenced at his friend’s response.

“Do you remember the phone number? Call his parents- they must be worried sick. Or at least contact the police.” You see, that was the logical thing to do, according to someone who hadn’t seen the state of the poster, or how the boy flinched at every move Wilbur made. He could hardly believe the black eye on the kid’s face was from being outside. There was something fishy going on, and that made the man hesitant to return him back to his guardians.

There were various cuts littered across the boy’s foot. Luckily, none of it appeared to be deep and rather minor scratches, but it still made him cringe at the thought of receiving all of them. “I’m going to wait until he wakes up. I want to talk with him before I force him to interact with more people.” He discarded the band-aids into a nearby bin. “I’m getting bandages and ointment. Yell if you hear him wake up.”

Thoughts ran wild in his head as he tried to come to terms with his situation. On one hand, he didn’t have a raccoon digging through his trash anymore. On the other hand, he now had a severely malnourished, injured, and missing child in his house that may or may not be able to go home. He was starting to believe that the raccoon would’ve been better than this. He brought down a wrap of bandages and Neosporin from his first-aid cabinet, gnawing at his lip. He thought of all the things he needed to give Tommy, the kid’s name if he remembered correctly, when he returned to consciousness. First and foremost, he was going to need a shower. It was also possible that he could have lice, ticks, or any sort of disease from staying out in the cold like he was in. New clothes, a full check for any wounds, and food.

This was not how he imagined he was going to be spending his Saturday night.

Tommy was still asleep when he returned, both to his relief and anxiety. He had a few more moments to address his wounds without fear of him trying to run off or be scared by a stranger, but the longer the kid was asleep, the more he feared that he wasn’t going to wake up. There was a steady rise and fall in his chest. He pulled out his chair so he could sit comfortably as he unraveled the bandage roll. “How bad does he look?”

Wilbur resisted a scoff. “Absolutely terrible. Dirty all over with scratches, bruises, and a pretty nasty black eye. All his clothes are torn and he only has one sock, no shoes.” His lips curled downwards, set into an upset frown. He needed to clean off the foot before he could put antibiotic ointment on it.

It went on like that for a while, with Wilbur tending to the kid’s foot and his friends asking questions about the boy while simultaneously calming down the musician in the process. In the time that they remained on call, he was able to clean off Tommy’s face, arms, and legs with soap and a wet rag, careful not to get the bedsheets wet. He let out a hefty sigh when he heard the Discord call disconnect. His friends were leaving him to his own devices, because he was a grown adult man, and he can handle situations like these on his own.

However, it was made slightly more difficult when the boy lifted his head off the pillow and pushed himself back against the headboard faster than lightning. All of the earlier anxiety came back at full force, and he choked up at the sight of the frightened boy. He laid his hands on his lap, palms facing up to show that he held nothing to hurt him. Though, he supposed hands were still counted as dangerous.

“It’s okay. You aren’t in any danger.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to come off as non-threatening as humanly possible. “My name is Wilbur Soot. You can relax.” He hated the way his voice shook a bit as he spoke, no matter how hard he attempted to hide it over a small smile.

Tommy didn’t move. His eyes flitted to every door he could see, and any object he could find, as if he was trying to see where and how fast he could escape. Wilbur couldn’t blame him. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I even cleaned you up and replaced your band-aids.” For a moment, the boy shifted to better see his foot. The man noticed the way his eyes widened at the sight of the new bandages. “I’m glad you’re awake, actually. There’s a few things I want to ask you.”

His head snapped back up to stare at the older male, fear dancing in his grayish-blue eyes. Wilbur’s belly churned at the sight. “No matter how you answer, you won’t be in danger, and I promise you’ll be safe. It’s important that you are honest with me, okay?” He strengthened his smile a bit, trying to encourage a response. All he got was a nod back, but it was better than nothing, so he’d take it.

He took a deep breath, attempting at steadying himself. “Have you run away from home?” He prayed to God that the kid would be truthful in his answer. For the streamer wouldn’t know if Tommy was lying or not, and would just have to roll with whatever he said. If the boy thought that if he agreed, Wilbur would simply take him back home, then he would simply lie and say that he was lost or was an orphan. However, it was possible that he didn’t run away, and that he really was just lost and resorted to living like a raccoon.

Tommy huffed out a shaky breath, mouth open like he was going to speak. Wilbur would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious to hear what he sounded like. “Please don’t take me back to them.” His voice was quiet and raspy, a result of not using it for presumably two weeks. Wilbur grimaced at both the tone and the words. Unfortunately, he said exactly what he feared he was going to say.

“If you don’t want me to, I won’t.” Wilbur meant what he said. If the parents hadn’t flipped the whole town upside down looking for their son, then he presumed it would be okay to keep him around for a while until he figured out what he was going to do. Technically, he could be charged with kidnapping a child, which he very much did not want to be accused of. He needed to focus on what he could do in the present, however, and that was get to treat this kid with some human decency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fact that i had to research if raccoons even lived in brighton because if they didnt then we would have a problem


End file.
